


I Think We Have All The Time In The World

by coolification



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Children, Coda, Domestic, Episode: s10e20 Angel Heart, Episode: s10e21 Dark Dynasty, F/M, Family, Fluff, Heaven, Human Castiel, M/M, Mark of Cain Cure, Old Castiel, Old Dean Winchester, POV Alternating, Parent Castiel, Parent Dean Winchester, Present Tense, poetic prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolification/pseuds/coolification
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas get to have a long life. They get to share it with the people important to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think We Have All The Time In The World

**Author's Note:**

> Also on tumblr [here.](http://venusdebotticelli.tumblr.com/post/119025810591/10x20-10x21-coda-7-4k-words)  
> A gift for carnilia.  
> Many thanks to my betas queernatural and welcome--to--awkwardvile.  
> (the three of them on tumblr)

“I think this is something she may like.”

Dean doubts it as he studies the furry monster Castiel is holding in front of him, but they’ve been in this store way too long, and Castiel has already discarded at least twelve gifts–not that Dean has been counting.

“Small furry animals bring comfort to humans, they provide company and a sense of security and warmth.” A gentle smile quirks up one side of his mouth as he seems to reminisce. “There was a cat who used to come by the gas-n-sip every day at the end of my shift, and I would leave milk and leftover food for her at the back door. We bonded, in time, and she would curl up at my feet and let me pet her. Her presence was a welcome gift in hard times.” Tenderness melts over the crinkles around his eyes, softens his cheeks into a smile, shines in his eyes. And Dean finds himself unable to look away.

“I’m sure she’ll like it, Cas. Anyway, with gifts it’s mostly the intention that counts. I think you got a good one, come on, let’s pay.” Dean pats Castiel’s shoulder and nods towards the checkout. He ignores the tight knot in his throat at Castiel’s mention of his lonely time as a human, and chooses to focus instead on his friend’s deep care for those important to him. He also ignores the soft longing that thought ignites in his gut.

* * *

The taxi is long past the point where it could still be seen as a yellow speck of dust down the road, but Castiel remains an unmoving statue with his eyes fixed in the distance. 

“Hey, buddy,” Dean says with a hand to his shoulder, “unless there’s anything else you got left to do around here, we thought we should get a move on. In four hours we can be back at the bunker. Three if we ignore speed limits." 

Castiel turns to look at him but doesn’t say anything, and Dean returns his stare without moving his hand. There’s something called sorrow etched in Castiel’s features, or maybe it is regret. There’s also something that could tentatively be considered hope, and something sweeter Dean decides it’s best not to name. All of them rush out of Castiel with the breath his slumping shoulders push from his lungs.  
  
"Yes, we should leave. I’ll follow you." 

Dean looks between their two cars, and seems to have different plans. "Nah, Sammy can drive.  I’ll ride with you.” With a smile and a last squeeze to Castiel’s shoulder, he heads towards the passenger side of Castiel’s car, throwing the Impala’s keys to Sam on the way. 

* * *

“I know why he did it, Cas, and I know why you lied to me too. Still doesn’t fucking excuse it. I mean, the Book of the Damned? Really? You guys should know better than that!” Dean’s hand slams on the table with enough force to make it rattle. Castiel feels the need to swallow before speaking.

“I didn’t know about the Book at first either, I agree that was a terrible idea. But, Dean, you have to understand–”

“Oh, I understand. I understand damned well, Cas. You thought I was a time bomb. That it was just a matter of time before I went off again, and you needed to go behind my back to do whatever you could before I blew. And what did you two achieve with that, huh? Now Charlie is… Charlie is…” he draws in a shaky breath, and Castiel can feel his own shoulders tensing and his throat tightening. “And Rowena is on the loose with the damn book, and we’re no closer to doing anything with this thing on my arm." 

Castiel looks away, guilt and regret and many other murky feelings roiling around in his gut, and he can’t but agree with Dean. "We were blind with worry for you. I’m so sorry, Dean”

“Yeah, you’re damn right you were.” Dean presses a hand over his eyes, defeat a heavy weight on his back, pushing his shoulders down.

“If it’s any–”

“Shut up. Cas, please I need you to shut up right now.” A pinched expression as he looks up at Castiel. “Shut up and follow me.”

Dean takes a couple of folded chairs and instructs Castiel to get some beers from the kitchen, and they set them up one next to the other on the bunker’s roof.

“That– That star over there, what’s its name? Have you got any interesting stories about it? Please, tell me about it.” A distraction sorely needed, Dean’s voice is heavy and strained as the words leave his mouth. The kind of voice that desperately needs a floating piece of driftwood to cling to in the middle of the ocean. Castiel’s answering voice is firm and steady as he tells him about the stars, a dry solace providing him with a moment of safe respite as the currents carry him away. It remains constant and strong even when he has to firmly close his arms around Dean, rocking back and forth like moved by the waves, and the salty wetness of tears soaks his coat.

* * *

Sweating in his fever. Sweating in his fever. Sweating in his fever. He writhes against the mattress, hands tightly fisted on the bed sheets. Something burns like a sun on his right arm. No, it doesn’t, it stopped burning days ago. The burn of its absence is what he feels now. It courses through his whole body, breaks it and mends it.

Moments of respite in between. A hand against his cheek, a refreshing wet cloth travelling up and down his arms, his neck. Cold relief fighting against the burn. Liquid blue eyes, two ponds of water to drink from and fight the fire in his veins.

The crackling sound of flames, and fresh air blowing over it in the shape of tender words.

“It’s alright, Dean.”

“Two more days at most, and you’ll be clean.”

“It’s okay, don’t fight it. It will be done soon.”

“The mark is already gone. This is just residual. You  _will_  get through this.”

“Dean, ssshhhh, I got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“The fever is already going down. Hang in there.”

Dean presses his face against Castiel’s chest, takes a deep breath, focuses on the rough hands travelling the length of his spine. He is exhausted, and he feels like he got run over by a train. His limbs loose, he keeps taking deep breaths. He feels better than he has in days. He feels better than he has in months. He stays wrapped in Castiel’s arms for a long time, he thinks he may have fallen asleep like that.

Somewhere in the world, flowers grow between cracks on the pavement.

* * *

“Man, you need to try this one too.” Dean pushes a piece of his dessert onto Castiel’s plate, and he looks in expectation as he carefully brings it to his mouth. The way his eyes widen and brighten up is enough to get a laugh out of Dean, and Castiel’s expression sweetens as he stares at him.

“You’re in a very good mood." 

"Dude, are you kidding? Of course I am! Do you know how long it’s been since I ate anything that didn’t leave an aftertaste of smoke? I get to taste pie again, Cas, PIE!” He lets out another laugh, and in a quieter voice he adds, “And I get to show it to you. I may be the reason you’re human again, but this time, I’m gonna make sure I help you through it. Show you all the good things about it.” Castiel studies him at that, an inscrutable look in his eyes.

“You know I chose this, right? Dean, I really don’t mind being human again, even if it’s permanent. The– The mark, it needed to be gone, it needed to be removed from you, and I am glad I could finally help you with that. I don’t regret my decision for a second. For you, it’s worth it.”

The burn in his arm is a phantom presence that only itches a little when he thinks about it for too long. But the burn of Castiel’s gaze is too intense, too bright, too real to bear, so he averts his eyes and clears his throat before he changes the subject.

“And this is only  _cherry_ pie. Wait until you taste pecan.”

Conversation flows pleasantly between them, as Dean tells him about all the different flavours of pie he plans to get him to try, and all the road diners with the best kind of burgers. Castiel listens with rapt attention, and decides to ignore the things unsaid. If Dean isn’t ready to bring them up, then he won’t pressure him…  _too much_. He’s thinking of tactful ways to approach the subject, when Dean’s voice lowers to an intimate kind, a barely there whisper, so big in its meaning, that it takes a bit of effort to get it past his lips. Once it’s out, it fills the silence between them to bursting.

“I’m glad to have you here, Cas. You should stick around more often.”

“I haven’t had much of a chance to do so in the past, have I?” Their eyes lock, understanding and affection coming easily, but not entirely free. Castiel hesitates to break the moment, but he forces himself to say what needs saying. “I really hope to change that now. Not only because it’s what I want, but also because you’re happiest when you have your family with you. And I mean  _all_  your family.”

“He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness, Cas.” A breath. “Just not yet." 

* * *

They almost were too late, but a couple of consecrated iron rounds put an end to it. Dean kneels over the shtriga’s corpse, making sure it’s well dead. The kid’s tiny hands grab onto Castiel’s shirt with all the strength his muscles are capable of, and Castiel tightly wraps a protective cocoon around his back, his hands rubbing soothing patterns on his sides.

"Sshhh, it’s alright, it can’t hurt you anymore." 

Words that try to come out of the kid’s little mouth are instead drowned in his sobs, the snot and tears obstructing an outlet, shoulders shaking like an earthquake. 

"We’re here now, and you’re safe. Sheriff Johanssen is your mother, right?” A little wet nod against his chest confirms it. “Dean is going to call your mom now, and she will soon be on her way. We will keep protecting you until she gets here, and a little more after that. You don’t have anything to fear." 

Dean’s already come back from calling the sheriff, and the little kid is still as glued to Castiel as he was when Dean left.

"What’s your name?” Castiel asks as he leans back just enough to see his face.

“J-Jacob.”

“Alright, Jacob. Give me your hand, I’m gonna show you something.”  As Castiel’s finger starts drawing symbols on his palm, moving down the inside of his arm to reach his elbow, a pleasant electric sensation shoots up his veins, drawing a wondered gasp out of Jacob. Castiel tenderly smiles at him in reassurance. “You felt it, didn’t you? Those are protective symbols in enochian language. They carry power with them, as you can see. I just traced them with my finger, so the effect will wear off in a few minutes, but writing them down increases their power. They can protect you for years if they’re written above your window. I will teach you how to write them, if you want, and you will never be unprotected again.”

Dean watches, curiosity piqued, as Castiel shows Jacob how to protect himself. Focusing on learning something new, the sobs have stopped almost completely now, and Jacob watches the swift movement of Castiel’s hands on the paper in quiet awe. Dean feels a hand tightly squeezing his stomach at the sight, and he tries not to think about why that might be. He tries not to think of how  _right_  Castiel looks taking care of a kid. He tries not to think of the great dad he could probably make, of all the valuable things he could pass on to a child. He tries not to think about how  _right_  it feels to picture himself by his side in that scenario. He tries not to think of the longing that twists his heart at the notion. He tries not to think of all those things, and he fails resoundingly. 

* * *

“This tea is really good, Patricia. Did you prepare it yourself, or do you have someone to do it for you?” Dean brings the small plastic cup back to his lips, can see its pink bottom through the clear surface of the plain, cold, water.  
“I did it myself! Look, I’ll show you how it’s done.” The girl’s tiny head bobs her way to the bathroom, and she comes back with her green teapot newly filled with water.

“When you have the water, you need to put it to boil, like this.” She shows him how the teapot must be placed on top of the little chair she calls a stove, and looks at him to make sure he’s paying attention. “When it’s boiling you put the tea in it.” She throws a few plastic grapes and a plastic cucumber into it. “And you add lots of sugar or it doesn’t taste nice.” Dean thinks it must be a  _really_ sweet tea she’s preparing, judging by all the times the spoon has travelled between the empty sugar bowl and the teapot. “And then you shake it all and tap the teapot three times, and it’s done!”

“That’s some professional tea-making technique right there. Who taught you how to do that?”

“It was Alex. Before he died we had tea together every day. Now it’s just some days. I think he doesn’t like my tea anymore, because sometimes he pretends he drinks but all the tea is still there when he leaves, and other days he gets angry and throws the cups in the air.” Patricia’s small frame shudders with the thought, and a puzzled frown adorns her forehead.

“I think it’s not your tea he has trouble with, kiddo.” Dean reassures, both with words and stance. “I think he’s having a hard time adjusting to being dead, and he unfairly takes it out on you. But Agent Cash and I think we can help with that, so you won’t have to worry about it anymore. Do your parents know Alex comes to visit you?”

“I thought my mom saw him once, but when I talked to her about it she just told me to stop making up stories.” All the cheerfulness of sharing her tea recipes with Dean seems to have evaporated, only to be replaced with the dejected set of her shoulders. But her face lights up when Dean points to a plate of plastic muffins and asks her about it.

“These are my homemade cupcakes! Which one do you want? I have strawberry flavour, red velvet, blue flavour, chocolate, vanilla, and coke flavour!”

“Coke flavour? That sounds really interesting, gimme that one.” Dean brings the toy to his mouth and makes a noise of pleasure as he chews. “This must be the best cupcake I’ve had in my life! You can practically feel the bubbles.” He closes his eyes and theatrically rubs his belly, licks his lips with his tongue. “Delicious!” Dean’s exaggerated display has Patricia giggling into her hands, and he takes the blue flavour cupcake when she offers the plate again.

What Dean doesn’t expect is for her to extend the plate in the direction of the door behind him, and ask, “What about you, Agent Cash? You’ve been standing there for a while, don’t you want to join us?”

When Dean turns around he sees Castiel’s amused crinkles around the pair of eyes already fixated on him, a gentle smile dancing on his lips. “That’s a very kind offer, Patricia, but now that I finished talking to your parents we must leave. I was just waiting for Agent Carter to finish his tea.”

“Oh, come on, Agent Cash, don’t be such a party-pooper. You can have a cupcake while I finish my own.” Dean raises a challenging eyebrow at him, and Castiel accepts with more smugness than Dean thinks the situation calls for. He takes the strawberry cupcake as he sits beside Dean, and the noises he produces when he eats it make Dean’s sound mild and civilised in comparison. Patricia is laughing so hard now that tea drips down her chin with her snorts. 

* * *

Dean presses a kiss to the underside of Castiel’s jaw, revelling on the fact that this is now something they can do. With his ear on Castiel’s chest, he can hear his heartbeat, he thinks. He doesn’t really know if angels have heartbeats. He suspects they may, in the most technical aspect of the word; a cold, mechanical, practical bodily function. He knows Castiel’s heartbeat isn’t like that anymore, if it ever was. It is a warm heartbeat. It carries red feelings through his veins, to every last corner of his human body. It runs with his fierceness when protecting those he loves, his morning grumpiness, his love of devouring PB&J’s, his tendency to drool in his sleep, his tenderness when Dean’s name escapes his lips at the peak of his orgasms. His heart pumps clean feelings of love, and courage, and sweetness, and brilliance to the very last inches of him; it takes his feelings of uncertainty, and pain, and loss, and self-doubt, and it purifies them, transforms them into something good before pumping them right back into him. It must be a very good heart, Dean thinks, if it can bear all the greatness of Castiel’s being. Dean is still getting used to the idea that he can easily speed up or slow down its rhythm with the right touch of his hands, the right look in his eyes, the right words whispered into Castiel’s ear or shouted through the halls of the bunker or sang over the music in the Impala. Still getting used to the idea that Castiel has chosen to share it with him, to carve a special place for him right at its centre.

The TV fills the background with pleasant noise, some lady speaking of the wonders of motherhood, or the tediousness of changing diapers, or the greatness of watching her kids grow, or her vehement insistence that children are the snotty spawn of Satan and she will never touch one with a ten feet pole. Dean isn’t really sure. He isn’t paying much attention to the TV, too busy watching the calm on Castiel’s face as he dozes off with his head hanging over the armrest at an awkward angle. Their bodies pressed together on the sofa, from feet to shoulders, Dean on top of Castiel. He feels safe and content. He feels like he wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of their lives.

* * *

“Are you sure we got everything? We’re not forgetting any important paper?” Nervous fingers rap a rhythm on the steering wheel, they grip the leather with excessive force, they ease again, they tense, they rap, they ease, they tense.

“Dean. We’ve gone over this eight times just today, and many others in the last month. Everything is in order. I’ve made sure, and I’ve checked and rechecked, that I have every single piece of paper we need in this folder right here. You’ve done the same a few other times yourself.” With a reassuring hand to Dean’s knee, Castiel fixes his eyes on Dean’s and asserts with unwavering certainty, “We got this. It’s almost done, Dean, it’s alright.”

“Yeah, it’s done, it’s okay.” He takes a deep breath to ground himself, promises himself it will be alright, tries to think of reassurances to calm his nerves, and not even two minutes pass before he’s asking again, “But are you sure?”

“Okay, that’s it, pull over.”

“What?”

“Dean, pull over.”

“Is this you finally realizing that I ain’t got what it takes to do this and you don’t want to do it with me anymore?” As the wheels of the Impala stop rolling on the roadside gravel, Castiel turns on his seat to give Dean the full force of his glare, and grabs his face between his hands.

“You’re going to listen to me now and you’re going to let what I say get through your thick skull, okay?”

“Okay.”

Castiel nods his approval at that before he begins talking. “We’ve both wanted this for a few years. We are really looking forward to it, and we want to do it together. We want it so bad, we’ve been extremely meticulous about this process. We educated ourselves and got familiar with all the proceedings before we even contacted any agency. When we did contact them, we made sure we contacted the most trustworthy one. We prepared what needed preparing and falsified what needed falsifying. We passed every test and inspection, and they decided we were good candidates. We met Emie, and she seems to like us as much as we like her. Today we’re going to hand in these last papers, which we have thoroughly prepared and revised, and as soon as they’ve been processed we’re going to take our daughter home with us. We’re going to love her, and protect her, and we’re going to give her the best life we possibly can. We’re going to do it together, and we’re going to do it right.” He places a light kiss on the tip of Dean’s nose before he finishes his short speech. “And right now, we’re just going to hand in these papers, and we’re going to try to get to terms with the fact that this is our reality now. We’re going to be parents, it’s really happening, Dean. And we’re going to be really good parents.”

The words linger between them as the air inside the car gets charged with the energy of their giddiness, the warmth of their hands grasping each other in reassurance, the happiness in their eyes as they gaze at each other and drink each other’s presence.

“Okay, okay.” Dean breathes as he presses his forehead against Castiel’s. “Alright, let’s do this.” With a bellow of laughter the Impala roars back to life, takes the road to a new kind of life.

* * *

“Where’s Dean, by the way? I thought it would be the two of you picking her up?” Sam asks as soon as they’ve said their greetings.

“He got knocked out on the job. Of course he insists he’s fine, but I suspect he may have a mild concussion, so I sent him to bed as soon as we got back. The fact that he didn’t protest too much confirms my suspicion anyway." 

"Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a healthy Dean. You take care of him.”

“I will. We will. First thing when we’re back, I’m gonna unleash that little tornado on his bed, give him a nice big headache to make up for how much he made me worry with his recklessness.” A shared chuckle at the mental image, and then Castiel asks, “Was she well-behaved?”

“Yeah, very. Most of the time.” Sam’s mouth shows the hint of a smirk at that. “We went to the carnival, or the ‘stick horsies’ as she calls the carrousel. She’s packing her bag now, will be down in a few minutes.” He hasn’t even finished speaking when the little tornado appears at the top of the stairs, descends on a whirl of short hair combed into a wet mohawk and a ladybug backpack, a storm barely contained in bright red wellies.

“Daaaddyyyyyy!!”

“Hey there, little bug.” Castiel says with a kiss to her cheek as he picks her up. “Did you have a good weekend with your uncle?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! We went to the stick horsies, and he bought me cotton, and he has a wife.” Emie looks at Sam, a child’s mix of mock, mild disgust, and amusement on her face, and Castiel raises a curious eyebrow at him as he asks, “A wife?”

“Her name’s Kim. I wouldn’t really call her my wife yet, we’ve been dating for a couple of months.” Sam looks down and rubs his neck, and Castiel gives him a smile that’s as bright on his eyes as it is on his lips.

“That’s great to hear, Sam. I hope things go we–”

“Where’s dad?” Emie interrupts, already bored with the adults’ tedious conversations, noticing something amiss on their tableau.

“He was feeling unwell. He stayed home to rest.”

“Nooooo, I don’t want him to feel bad. Can we give him a medicine?” Her eyebrows crease a frown above her concerned eyes, and her father reassures her with a smile as he playfully flicks her ear.

“I don’t think medicine is very necessary at the moment, but you can put frozen peas on his forehead. And we could prepare chicken noodle soup for him, if you want?”

“Yes! But with the smurfs pasta.”

“Smurfs pasta it is. I’m sure he’ll love it. Especially if it comes from the best cook in the house.” Emie giggles like a singing waterfall.

* * *

The clear pool of water on the sink is home to a dangerous colony of vampire sharks. Captain Emie Winchester, with her little yellow submarine, can take care of them, and save the poor swimmers who are being eaten by them. 

“Don’t fear, innocent swimmers! These sharks are gonna be fishy toast real soon!” The submarine charges against the aquatic bloodsuckers, and their terrorised cries can be heard echoing through the whole bathroom. 

“Aaaaaaaah!! Aaaaaaaah!! Captain Emie, let us live, please!!" 

"You should have thought of that before you ate all those school kids and all those old grumps from the retirement home!” The epic battle that ensues shakes the rocks at the very bottom of the deep deep sink, creates a tsunami the likes of which have never been seen before in the whole bathroom. 

“Yet another victory for the brave Captain Emie!”

“Captain Emie should stop splashing water all over the place and be aware that she will be the one to clean it up. And please stay still, we’re never gonna finish if I have to constantly undo what I last did because you moved in a bad moment.”

“But daaddyyy, you’re taking forever to finish.” A petulant pout as brown eyes meet her father’s blues in the mirror, his long fingers carefully braiding a bun on the top of her head.

“You’re the one who asked for this hairstyle. I only just learnt how to do it from a YouTube tutorial, so of course it’s gonna take a while until I’ve practised enough.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry. I’ll stay still.”

The mirror shows her big masses of black hair dancing above her head at the guidance of her father’s clever fingers. They twist, they cross, they get pinned down, they bend, they are let loose and moved aside, just to get pulled back in and twisted and crossed some more. The careful way Castiel builds the shapes and draws the lines speaks of numerous days spent coiffing his daughter’s hair; learning to get familiar with it, know its twists and bends, know how to properly take care of it; learning numerous different ways to care for his daughter; learning to share with her the experience of building one’s own image to show the world, and learning how to express oneself through creativity and beautiful grooming practices. Emie sees her father’s love for her in the gorgeous tight knots of her bun, in the sweetness in his eyes, and the deep concentration on his frown as he tries to do his best work. Castiel feels the most connected to humanity when working with his hands, to do something as inherently human as these shared moments of care with his family.

“That’s some fancy hair you got there, Princess Leia!” In the mirror Castiel turns his head to smile at Dean, and as he steps behind them and presses a kiss to Castiel’s neck, Emie can see the “Maison du Chef Dean” on his apron, a birthday gift from a daughter and a father with a penchant for arts and crafts. “The pancakes are almost done, what do you want with them?”

“I want strawberries with lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of whipped cream on top.”

“How many lots were those? Eight? Ten? Are you sure you don’t want fifteen lots of cream?” Emie laughs as Dean winks at her in the mirror, and Castiel tries to prevent her enthusiastic nodding from messing up the last twist of the braid. “And what about you, Cas?”

“Please, surprise me.”

“Ooooh, that was a challenge, wasn’t it?” Castiel’s very challenging eyebrow is all the answer Dean needs, and he lets out a snort and a slap to his butt as he goes back to the kitchen. In the mirror, Emie scrunches up her nose at them in annoyance. Adults can be really gross when they are in love. 

* * *

“Cas, stop fidgeting, you’re messing up the tie.”

“What? No, I’m not.” Dean pointedly looks at where it falls on his chest, and when he looks down Castiel can see that it now twists backwards.

“Heh, this brings back some memories.” The strength of Dean’s hands as he grips his shoulders after fixing his tie helps ground him a little, but his stomach is still threatening to sprout wings and go flying out of his mouth. “Hey, hey, Cas, breathe. It’s okay, this is gonna go swimmingly, alright?  _Claire_  is the one who’s gonna do the graduating,  _your_  job is just to sit on a chair and look pretty while you smile and clap.”

“But what if she– Is she expecting something from me? I mean, it would make sense for her to want her father at her graduation, so maybe she just wants my face to be there and have that illusion for a moment? But she wouldn’t really want  _me_  there, right? She has no reason to, so what if my expression isn’t passable enough as Jimmy? What if she looks for her father and sees a very blatant impostor? What would–”

“Hey, hey, hey, dude,  _chill_. I’m gonna ask you some questions and you’re gonna give me some answers, and  _then_  I’m gonna let you reach a conclusion, okay?” A deep breath as he glues his eyes to Dean’s, he feels marginally more capable of doing this, he nods. “Good, alright. How many times a year does she call you, Cas?”

“Twelve? I don’t know. She does call at least once a month.”

“And what does she talk about in those calls?”

“She usually tells me about her life, asks about my own, sometimes she asks for help.”

“Of all those calls, how many of them are to get some kind of help from you, and how many of them are just to talk to you?”

“Most of them are to talk, she doesn’t need help very often now.”

“Would you bother calling someone you don’t care about every month? Someone who doesn’t even think he deserves your calls?”

“No?”

“No, you wouldn’t. You check on people you give a shit about. She was too embarrassed and proud to even call you at first, and now she calls every month. Do you think the reason might be that she cares about you, Cas, and not her father’s face?”

“Yes…? Yes.” He firmly amends at Dean’s pointed look.

“She sent you that invitation, Cas. She just wants you to be there for her. Now, will you please chill?” The relief on Castiel’s exhaled breath caresses Dean’s neck in their embrace.  _Thank yous_  and _I love yous_  are muttered against warm skin. 

* * *

“The shower is a lot better than I expected it to be. I was actually surprised when I saw that the water pressure is almost as good as the ones here at the bunker.”

“Hah, I’ll have to see that to believe it.”

“Dad, you’re not gonna go to my dorm to have a shower.” Emie directs a nonplussed look at Dean as he grins at her with a piece of chicken hanging out of his mouth. Castiel offers the plate of potatoes, and as she helps herself to another serving, he asks, “Are you eating properly?”

“Just like every time you ask every couple of days, the answer is still that I’m eating as well as I can with the money I have. Which is probably worse than you would deem acceptable, but a lot better than I was expecting to be able to pull off.”

A nod to concede the point, and then he continues his interrogation.

“What about the classes? How are you finding them?”

“I love them. I love them so much I practically dance my way to class every day. The teacher-student dynamics are so different from high school, I find it immensely rewarding. I feel like I can truly make use of my full potential when I’m given the freedom to approach the tasks in the way I feel fits me best. I honestly don’t get why they stifle the students so much in high school; it only contributes to making everyone miserable.”

“I’m glad you’re so happy there.” Both her fathers smiling at her, one of them with quiet and intimate content, the other with all his happiness shinning through the huge grin splitting his face in half, both with equal pride; Emie finds herself having missed this, the sense of home and protection, after so many months away. Not that she doesn’t like the freedom, but she realises it’s pleasant to have the comfortable cushion of her family to lie on and rest every once in a while.

Food is shared, stories are shared, love is shared in good company. Emie tells them about that time a pipe burst in the middle of the night, how they had to evacuate twelve rooms, and instead of going to the offered gym to sleep, a few of them decided to camp outside for the night, a filigree of stars hanging over their heads and watching over them. Castiel tells her about their trip to the Rocky Mountains, the brightness of the fresh air and open spaces, the clear feeling of the cool water of the lakes against their skin, Dean’s epic feud against the mosquitos ( _“Excuse you, I didn’t lose, I really taught those mosquitos a lesson” “What about all the bites you came home with?” “Shut up, Cas”_ ). Emie tells them about the time Charlie came to visit her, all the manoeuvring that was needed to fit her wheelchair through the narrow doors, all the new improvements she had made to the chair’s computer, and her suspicions that Charlie may be trying to turn herself into some sort of unstoppable cyborg (she doesn’t tell them about Charlie hacking into the university’s system and erasing a few records of missed classes and deadlines, tweaking up a few grades).

The food now finished, bellies full, and a pleasant drowsiness hanging on the air. It’s warm, it’s slow, it’s golden, it’s home.

* * *

“Eloïse called this morning saying that the ghouls she was hunting got the jump on her. She got hurt before she managed to kill one of them. The other one escaped back to their crypt. She was very vague when I asked about the full extent of her wounds, which makes me think they’re the kind of wounds she needs help with but is too stubborn to admit.” Castiel pauses to let out a frustrated sigh before he adds, “She also insisted she will take care of the remaining ghoul on her own.”

“Who’ve we got over there?” Dean asks while exploring the map in front of him. “Aha, Becker and Ramos. I’ll give them a call and send them over. Unless you got a better idea?” he adds when he sees Castiel’s frown. 

“I think we need a more subtle approach. It’s Eloïse we’re talking about here. If you send her help, she will reject it and do something reckless, just to compensate.”

“Yeah, she has that thing going on where she needs to prove how tough and independent she is, doesn’t she?” a resigned smirk that Castiel returns with a shrug, and then he goes on, “I suggest we send them anyway, and they’ll just happen to coincidentally be hunting the same thing and stumble upon her.”

Castiel lets out a chuckle at that. “Yeah, she will smell our hand behind it from a mile away, but it’s conspicuous enough that she can accept it without hurting her pride.”

“Exactly.” Dean agrees with a grin. 

Trish and Claudia are doing research for their next hunt a couple of tables away, and a comfortable silence falls over the library as Dean types the message on his phone. He looks at Castiel when he’s done, only to find blue eyes already trained on him, resting above a pleasant smile. He feels his mouth respond in like, and his hand slowly trails the distance of the table between them until their fingers entwine together. A bunker full of lost kids, Castiel’s thumb rubbing circles on his wrist, home feels real and solid, a warm cocoon of golden light around them.

“Talked to Sam and Kim today. Their dog’s fine after the operation, already recovered and running around. They’re gonna take him on a walk to the beach to celebrate, and they invited us to join them.” Dean smiles fondly, but then his expression sobers. “They also said they’ve found a new kid to send our way. Laura. Her parents were some vampires’ dinner a couple of days ago, no other family to take care of her.”

“How old is she? What kind of trauma are we talking about?” It’s a regular enough occurrence that they developed a protocol a long time ago, but the concern in Castiel’s features is still as genuine as it was the first time.

“She’s fourteen. And so far she’s been quiet, hasn’t said a word. Sam thinks she m–Tim, don’t think I don’t see you sneaking away from dish duty again!” A loud curse on the staircase, followed by the sound of petulant teenage footsteps descending what they just climbed.

“Oh, come on, Dean. I was just going to buy some apples, we’re out of them. It won’t even be two hours.”

“I’m pretty sure the 'apples’ will still be right there at the bar in twenty minutes, after you’ve washed what you let pile up for the last couple of days.” Dean’s raised eyebrow is now the kind Tim has learnt he can’t argue against, so he takes a dramatically dejected walk to the kitchen, leaving a string of mumbles and grumbles behind him. “You’re just supposed to be some old wise dude who knows shit about hunting. Ugh. Why are you such a dad too?”

“Because I  _am_  a dad. And you always act like a child.” Dean retorts to the slowly retreating back. “Maybe if you tried behaving like an adult, I would treat you like one.”

“No, you wouldn’t, what the hell?” Trish snorts from the other table. “You’re too much of everyone’s mom for that.”

“But he doesn’t know that, because he’s never tried.” With a wink to the young woman, he turns back to Castiel to follow their conversation, takes a moment to appreciate the love in his amused gaze.

* * *

“Alright, Sally, now the letters are the only thing left. We’re gonna write a real nice message for your grandad, okay?” The little girl grins at Dean as she reaches for the piping bag, but he stops her with a hand at her wrist before she can grab it. “Not so fast, miss. First we gotta think of what we wanna write.”

“Happy Birthday Grandpa Cas?” Dean rubs a hand through his beard as he pretends to consider it.

“Uh, sure, if you wanna go the easy and boring route. Come on, Sally, you’re not a boring girl, are you?” A very serious shake of her head denies it with an impetus. “That’s my girl! We can do a lot better than that.”

“Sooooo… What then? It’s a birthday cake.”

“You know, it’s not technically a birthday, because grandpa wasn’t technically born. He just came from the sky one day, and today is the anniversary of the day he chose to stay on Earth with us as a human.”

“Grandpa is an alien?” Young big eyes, full of wonder, and behind them a theatre piece being brought to life, scenes of flying saucers and little purple blobs that take on the shape of humans because of love, pure excitement pushing a clear laugh out of Sally’s mouth. Dean’s eyes crinkle with affection and amusement at her enthusiasm.

“Yes, he’s an alien. A very old, very wrinkly, very grumpy, alien. We could write something in relation to that. 'Congrats On Getting Old’ maybe? I bet he’s still as fascinated and awed by the fact that he actually got old like a human as he was when he first found a grey hair on his head. That dork, with his ability to look at human things and see all that beauty in them, like we are something precious. God, I still remember when he–”

“Happy Alienversary,” Sally mutters to herself as her grandad goes on with his old-man ramblings.

“What was that, kiddo?”

“It’s his alienversary, so we should write 'Happy Alienversary’ and draw a spaceship.” A laugh startles out of Dean, and in return he gets a wide grin with a few holes where teeth should be. 

“I like the way you think! Okay, you can grab the piping bag now.” He adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and squints as his granddaughter holds the bag open for him to pour the right measure of sweet icing.

* * *

The waves lick their feet with their back and forth, their friends’ and family’s voices playing a happy symphony around them, the sun is warm and bright and it gives everything a dreamlike quality, glistens of the ocean reflected on their faces and making them squint.

Dean takes another bottle of beer from the cooler beside them, and leans in to press a kiss to Castiel’s neck, simply because he can. Castiel moves his hand up and down Dean’s back, drawing shapes and playing with the knobs and bumps of his spine. He trails his fingers up his neck, and rakes them through the short brown hair at the back of Dean’s head. His white hair was allowed to grow a little longer in his old age, so Castiel is getting himself reacquainted to the sensation he hasn’t experienced in years. He himself looks younger than he has in decades too.

He wasn’t sure what he’d look like in Heaven. Would he be a foggy white shape, or would he take on Jimmy’s face? Would he take on his own face, aged by his own human life? Would he even end up in Heaven at all, or was it all pure wistful thinking? It turns out he looks like a young human, but older than he was when he became one. He looks like he did when he really started to feel like his body was entirely his, and he finally accepted that yes, his place was living a human life by Dean’s side, and no one was out to take that away from them anymore. He looks like he did when he finally got to settle into the comfort of his own humanity.

“You know what we should do?” Dean asks, his hand resting on Castiel’s thigh. “I’m thinking we should go jerk each other off in the water." 

"That sounds like a wonderful idea.” They smile at each other as Dean leans in to get a kiss off his lips, and starts stripping of his swimming trunks.

“You think we’ll have time? No duty calling, no civilians in distress needing our help?” A mischievous wink of his eye as he says it. Castiel pours all his love into his answering stare before he replies.

“I think we have all the time in the world." 

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this after 10x20, and then 10x21 happened. The scene where Dean lashes out and says "Charlie is... Charlie is..." was written before 10x21, because I already suspected they would kill her. But when her death was so shittily written, I absolutely refused to accept it in my fic, so wheelchair it is here :)


End file.
